Singles Holiday, Part Five

10am, Breakfast.
It's Saturday already. Time is different when you are on holiday. I feel like I've been here forever, but tomorrow we go home and I still haven't seduced Caroline. Last night, after she gave me the brush off, I wondered if after four years of married life I'd forgotten how it's done. Faced with a problem I react with a practical solution. I will practise, with someone else if necessary. I will spend Saturday trying to seduce one, any, of the single women on our trip.

7pm, Dinner
It was an interesting experiment. I will share the results with you.

1. Many of the single people on a singles holiday are not really single. I thought C and I would be unique, but no. The difference was, the other 'singles' had left their partner at home. Not just the stag party men.
2. Every one has a story to tell. I expected to get an adrenaline rush from my seduction attempts, but mostly I ended up crying.
3. The advice on those sites which tell you how to seduce women does not work.
4. Roaming charges for Internet access on mobile phones are still astronomic.
5. Tamsin is only interested in men with a very pale complexion.
6. Nudity is a barrier; it's much easier to talk with clothes on.
7. Lawyers are not popular. My colleagues have driven the population mad with their adverts, spam, and nuisance calls promising money for spurious accidents and bank errors.
8. Most women are still not interested in football, and even fewer support Manchester United. Rafa Nadal is very popular despite his OCD, which women find endearing.
9. Winning at ping pong against a seduction target is not successful.
10. Neither is losing.

You probably want to know if I had any success at all, but there is a risk Caroline might read this in an idle moment so let's just say it made me more aware of my strengths and weaknesses. Technique honed, after dinner I will turn the RF charm on the redhead that was my real target all along.

1am, Room 704
There was a dangerous 'last night' feel to the party in the bar. People were drinking more, knowing they could sleep it off on the journey home. It was the last chance for love, or at least a shag. I could tell Caroline had hit the vodka because she was laughing at the sporty stag party's jokes about their visit to the local lap-dancing club, something she disapproves of if I go when on a work trip.

I prise her away from the shaven-headed mob by showering her with a compliment and steering her onto the dance floor. We rediscover our old moves and fling ourselves around until C twists her ankle. Result, I think.
"Let me help me back to your room. Which one is it?"
"704."
She clings to my neck all the way up in the lift. I virtually carry her onto the bed, remove her flimsy sundress and strappy sandals, and pop into the bathroom.

By the time I return, Caroline is fast asleep.